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Posted: August 23, 2012 6:21 p.m.

My Mother and The Match

Mother: "It's been three months now. I think you should go on The Match."

Me: "What does that mean? You mean match.com?

Mother: "Yes, The Match. Or your sister said Craigslist is a good place to find a nice man to date."

Me: "Mother, people do not meet nice men on Craigslist. They meet murderers."

Mother: "Well, you'll never know who you'll meet until you try."

While I understand that my mother is trying to show love and concern for me by attempting to talk me into putting myself out there on dating sites, the thought of it is both terrifying and exhausting. To her, a man would make me happy and help me get though what she calls "this bad patch." To me, it makes me think of horrible news stories you read about people meeting killers and gross perverts.

But since I have become single, it seems the main goal in her life is to get me "back out there into the game." Honestly, I don't know who she has been hanging out with. My sister, of course, finds this all hilarious, which is why she would put my safety in jeopardy. Either that or she secretly hates me. But I prefer to think it's for a good laugh.

I recently went out to eat with a friend. When my mother called that night, she asked if I had met anyone nice. When I told her that I had met a waiter and the owners, she told me to get back in there and give them my number. When I balked, she suggested that I go back and tell them I'd left my debit card as an excuse to leave them my number. I might as well wear a sign on my back that says "Single!" I won't mention that to her though, cause she'll probably make me one, complete with glitter and kitten stickers.

She has also enlisted the help of her pastor, who thinks it's also a good idea for me to start dating again, which basically means that the idea is golden. I assume her pastor, like me, was trying to get her to leave him alone and agreed as a means to an end.

My protests that there are no nice men to meet in Covington mean nothing to her. Telling her that I don't hand out my number to perfect strangers because it isn't safe and also, because I have not dated since I was 19 and am wary of the whole process falls on deaf ears.

She recently asked me if I would be mad if she just signed me up for The Match, telling me that her pastor knew a few lovely couples who had met on there. I told her that if she did, I would report her to children's services or possibly the GBI.

"Darling, you are so pretty. And you're smart. And more importantly, you know how to cook. What man wouldn't want you?"

I honestly think my mother imagines herself as June Cleaver, even though growing up she was nothing like a TV mom, unless you count some odd '80s mom who wore big glasses, super high heels and didn't have time to read stories before bedtime or make food that wasn't quick fix or spaghetti. Now she thinks the fact that I can make my Memaw's peanut butter fudge puts me on par with Angelina Jolie.

She finally asked me recently what I would look for in a potential mate. When I started with someone who could make me laugh, she sighed and I could almost hear her shaking her head in disgust before she said, "No, really."

"Mother, you have to stop this or I'm going to set myself on fire," I told her. "I want a man who is kind and who can make me laugh. Who can make pancakes and who isn't a total buffoon, and who will adore me even when I'm gross and have a snotty nose. That's what I want."

Three guesses how that went over.

"Darling, you will never find a man who thinks you are pretty with a snotty nose. And you're almost 34. Shouldn't you lower your standards a bit?"

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